


The Value of Jazz

by adrift_me



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Gellert Grindelwald, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Sensuality, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Percival Graves can be as sensual as he is caring, and Credence knows it firsthand.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my amazing friend [Marion](gravesfrommacusa.tumblr.com) because thanks for dragging me into Gravebone hell.
> 
> If you feel so inclined, read with [this fireplace ambience](http://relaxing.ambient-mixer.com/fireplace-and-background-noise) and your choice of slow 1920s jazz.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/) :)

Fire is roaring in the fireplace, flames are dancing their mysterious spellbinding dance. It’s intriguing and mesmerizing and Graves is staring at it mindlessly. The passionate flame dance is quite the contrary to the auror’s state. For once he is peaceful and content, holding a dear creature in his arms and rocking it lightly.

“Shhh,” he whispers in Credence’s ear, gently caressing the young man’s back. Credence doesn’t need soothing as much as before, but Graves enjoys doing it anyway. Sometimes shivers would run down Credence’s spine, goosebumps on his skin revealing pleasure and peace. 

Percival carefully avoids scars on Credence’s back, for he knows the location of each and every one of them and how much pain they bring. His fingers touch sharp shoulder blades, move slowly and calmingly over cotton shirt. Credence’s head rests on Percival’s chest, his hands are wrapped round the auror’s waist and holding him strong enough to show affection.

It’s a quiet night, disturbed only by crackling logs in the fireplace.

“Credence,” Graves’ voice is hoarse from not speaking for long hours that day.

“Yes, P-Percival?”

Percival smiles. The young man is still learning to overcome the reverence to his name and can’t speak it straight. The auror carefully places his hand on Credence’s face, following his gaze up with a gentle smile.

“Do you mind if I break this quiet moment with some music?”

“I don’t, sir,” says the young man, moving back and blinking sleepily. Percival swiftly moves to a recent addition to his household, a beautiful invention of the no-majs. A gramophone is standing on a small side table, its gleaming horn reflecting the fire and waiting to perform modern music. It’s only had a pleasure to play music once, when Percival tried it out upon purchasing.

The needle scratches a black disc of the vinyl, placed on the turn table. A second passes and gentle jazz begins streaming through the horn,filling in the room. Percival thinks the music is warm, and its slow saxophone is almost enticing.

Graves runs a hand over his hair, pushing it back carefully. He watches Credence from the corner of his eye and smirks when the young man follows movement of his hand.

Percival pulls out his wand and touches the gramophone lightly. He doesn’t need a wand to perform magic, but Credence enjoys seeing a simple wooden tool do the tricks.

The music magically changes to slow piano ballad and it’s an invitation enough. Graves hides the wand in his robe’s pocket. It takes one big step to be back at the sofa and he bows lightly before Credence, his hand out.

The young man is seemingly confused.

“Come, Credence. Let us dance,” says Graves with a small smile, still bowing and looking from under his brows. His eyes are almost black, catching no warm light of the fireplace. His posture is inviting, not forcing, and he hopes Credence catches the difference.

Graves’ hand closes around Credence’s, that is offered shyly. He helps the young man get up and guides him to the center of the living room. His movements are clumsy, uncertain and his legs drag behind a little, as if shy to keep up with the rest of the body. 

“I’m not sure…” he stutters and Graves has to pull him closer by placing a hand on the man’s waist.

“Don’t worry, Credence. This dance is easy. All you have to do is relax and enjoy,” says Percival soothingly, guiding Credence’s hand on his shoulder. It rests there lightly, unsure if it’s allowed to be there. The young man doesn’t look up and his delicate cheeks have a tint of red blush. His lips are parted slightly and Graves can’t help but stare at them. He can feel Credence’s breathing on his chin, it’s warm and familiar. 

“Older generation of no-majs sees no value in jazz,” says Graves, resting his head on Credence’s shoulder. They are slowly moving around in one place, hand in hand, hands on each other. “Magical population is much more opened to it. In fact, it’s much more opened to quite a few things.”

“Like Gigglewater and alcohol in general?” says Credence quietly.

“Quite so, my boy,” Graves smiles in the young man’s shoulder. He inhales - soap and a faint whiff of cologne that Graves got him - and plants a heavy kiss on Credence’s neck. He loses strength a little, falling in Graves’ arms and recovering only when Percival helps him to. The boy is hungry for touches, for contact, and Percival is only happy to oblige.

Auror’s hand wanders from Credence’s waist to his back and he presses him lightly to his chest. He feels a hand on his neck and how it grasps at him, as if drowning and holding on a straw.

“Shhh,” softly whispers Graves in Credence’s ear. The tip of his nose touches his cheek and he carefully, gently moves his face to never leave contact with Credence’s delicate skin. Percival’s mouth finds Credence’s and he catches his lips in a kiss. It’s light, only a taste, but enough to get the young man’s undivided attention. Graves smiles, feeling his hair ruffled up by a hand, and he can’t help but push in that mouth, hungry for kisses.

With great effort, Percival moves away from Credence’s face, but still holds his body in a dancing embrace. The young man’s hand falls back to his shoulder, and Percival watches Credence brave a glance.

The gramophone, a silent witness of a loving dance, scratches lightly and music changes to another tune. It’s as slow and moving, but somehow even more sensual. Graves swallows.

He wants to be possessive, but care for Credence prevents him from grabbing that boy and embracing him tightly, covering him in kisses. Besides, Graves has to secretly admit that he is enjoying this slow love torture. It’s poisoning, the way Credence affects him. He may not know he is doing it, for his looks are innocent and his touches are delicate, but oh, they are driving Percival mad and he welcomes this madness.

He brings Credence’s hand to his lips and kisses its knuckles. They are almost sharp and, like other parts of Credence’s skin, they are covered with evidence of the past. There are barely visible lines and splits here and there, the remnants of what Graves’ powerful magic could not heal. He remembers being angry at how much pain that woman brought, pain that magic could not erase. He remembers Credence calming his anger that almost electrified the air.

“Don’t, Mr. Graves,” he whispered gently, not out of fear, but affection and gratitude. “Don’t.”

And Percival, obliging and unable to resist, calmed down.

Now he can indulge in bringing pleasure, not pain, to this wonderful creature. He gathers him in his embrace, unable to resist the urge of feeling all of his weight on himself, the pressure of that body. His hand runs through a mess of black hair that grow out of its ridiculous style so quickly. His other hand rests on Credence’s face, thumb caressing still blushing skin of the cheek. The boy pushes into the touch, and Percival gives it to him, carefully moving his palm and caressing Credence, who cries quietly. Graves wipes bitter tears away and presses a kiss on the young man’s forehead. He doesn’t realise his eyes are wet too and he scolds himself for being unable to hide the feeling.

To hell with this, he thinks, suppressing a small sob and slowly rocking Credence in his arms, with sensual jazz accompanying in the background.

 


End file.
